


Brother in Arm

by Aelfay



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, mail order brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfay/pseuds/Aelfay
Summary: “Lurch, take this down,” I said. “Wanted: one older brother. Kind, helpful, pragmatic, good with explosives, knives, guns, darts, swords, and any other weaponry imaginable. Food and home provided.”“Make sure he’s handsome,” Grandmama insisted.“Handsome preferred, and—”A small explosion left us all coughing happily, but Morticia made a soft, sad noise at the sight of Cleopatra’s broken frond. Poor dear.“And perhaps a metal arm,” she said, exasperated, taking the frond gently as Wednesday apologised.I nodded, and wheezed to Lurch, “And a metal arm. Submit to all the papers with the address, Lurch, thank you.”
Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams
Comments: 17
Kudos: 106





	Brother in Arm

“Really, what they need, dear,” said Morticia, stroking her African Strangler with a soft, corpselike finger, “is an older brother. Someone unflappable. Someone charming. Someone—”

An explosion rattled the upstairs. We all looked up. The children must have been studying. How responsible.

“-durable.” She finished with a smile.

“Isn’t that what Lurch is for?” Uncle Fester asked, and she gave him a little laugh and a shake of her head, hair trailing like grief over a grave.

“Of course not, sweet Uncle Fester. An older brother has entirely different instincts.”

“Well, perhaps we should find one, then,” I said, lighting my cigar and puffing it to get it started. “Right away. Nothing but the best for my children. Lurch!” I pulled the nearest noose.

“You rang?” he asked. So prompt. So helpful. So glowering and looming. Truly, the epitome of butlerhood.

“Mama, look what I made!” Wednesday interrupted us, running in and holding up a bottle that steamed beautifully.

“Oh, that’s lovely, why don’t you show Cleopatra?” Morticia said, pleased, and the African Strangler wrapped around the bottle when she held it up.

“Lurch, take this down,” I said. “Wanted: one older brother. Kind, helpful, pragmatic, good with explosives, knives, guns, darts, swords, and any other weaponry imaginable. Food and home provided.”

“Make sure he’s handsome,” Grandmama insisted.

“Handsome preferred, and—”

A small explosion left us all coughing happily, but Morticia made a soft, sad noise at the sight of Cleopatra’s broken frond. Poor dear.

“And perhaps a metal arm,” she said, exasperated, taking the frond gently as Wednesday apologised.

I nodded, and wheezed to Lurch, “And a metal arm. Submit to all the papers with the address, Lurch, thank you.”

* * *

Free food and board. He had skills with all those weapons. Metal arm. Suspicious.

If it was Hydra, he’d kill them all. If it wasn’t Hydra… he was hungry, so that would work out.

He closed the newspaper, glanced up at the train schedule, and nodded. All right, then.

* * *

It took a while for Morticia and I to weed out the candidates for the position. Several gave up at the duelling section of the interview, and it was terribly demoralising (which I positively revelled in) when an enthusiastic young man told us he was eager to help Pugsley join the Boy Scouts (again).

We were starting to lose hope.

“I’m starting to lose hope,” Uncle Fester admitted, shrugging as he slumped onto the armchair. “All of these people are so – upstanding. Bright-eyed and _bushy-tailed._ ” He shook his head with a handsome grimace.

Grandmama shook her head. “In my day, we raised people proper. Morose. And brooding!” She seemed to cheer up at the thought.

“Now,” Morticia, night of my life, spoke calmly, “none of this hopelessness. We all know Rome wasn’t burned in a day. And think of the children.”

The doorbell rang, and Uncle Fester sighed but sat up straight. “For the children,” he said, frowning with determination.

A moment later, Lurch led in such a specimen. Such a fantastically glowering example of manhood. His hair hung in seaweed-like strands over his square jaw, his looming eyebrows, his sneer as he glanced around the room. His eyes passed over our beautiful sitting room and he nodded once, and I saw approval there.

I _had_ to test his mettle.

“On guard!” I shouted, and came at him with my sword. His hand lifted, blocked it, twisted, and then it was in shards on the floor.

I will admit, that very few have turned my eye from my darling Morticia for even the most fleeting of seconds, for my love for her is eternal and will last beyond the grave. But that moment is singular in my mind, because he managed it, just the once.

I take comfort in the memory of my dear Morticia’s gasp, as well, for I know I was not the only one to show such weakness.

“BRAVO!” Uncle Fester shouted, and the man jumped, turning to stare as Uncle Fester stood, clapping, and Grandmama soon joined him. I took a bow in the man’s direction, and even Morticia set down her knitting needles to clap serenely. The man straightened, looking surprised, and then gave a jerky nod to Morticia, which I took as a point in his favour.

“Well done,” I approved. “Morticia?”

“Positively charming,” she agreed, setting aside her work and standing, gesturing to a chair nearby. “Do sit down, Mr---?” He sat down but stared at her blankly when she paused for a name, and she tilted her head. “Oh, dear. No name?”

He blinked once and then nodded. “There was a position?” he said hoarsely.

“You’re hired!” Uncle Fester said, holding up a finger, beaming.

Morticia shook her head, amused at him. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, we must have something to call you.” She paused.

“Conquistador!” I offered, with a swish of my now-bladeless sword hilt.

“Vlad,” offered Grandmama.

“Igor,” Uncle Fester said eagerly.

“Conquistador… James the Conqueror,” Morticia said, and our guest’s eyes flashed to her face. She glowed at him, like a fall moon before a hunt. “Yes, I think James fits you, don’t you agree?”

He nodded once.

“Marvellous. Now, how are you with knives?” she asked, sitting back down and picking up her knitting. By the time she’d looked back up, James had produced two, and even I hadn’t managed to see where he’d produced them from, and I have the eyes of a vulture.

“Guns?” I asked, and he tugged one from his boot.

“Explosives of unspecified natures?” Grandmama asked eagerly, and he turned to her before narrowing his eyes, digging in his vest pocket, and handing her a tiny bulb which she immediately tossed into the air.

The explosion above our heads was terrifically satisfying. The stuffed bear fell over with a tremendous crash, and I beamed at him. “Morticia,” I said, hopefully, and she held up a hand, leaning in and narrowing her eyes.

“But what of his _instincts_ ,” she said, but she was interrupted when Wednesday came in, dragging a man with an octopus on his jacket by the hand.

“Mama, Mama! He was in the garden!” she said, pointing at the man.

James looked up, and the man fell over, a hole between his eyes, and then I registered the gun in his hand. Wednesday stared in awe.

“Can you show me how to do that?” she asked, amazed. James nodded once.

“Don’t you know not to talk to strangers?” he asked, and she blinked.

“You’re a stranger,” she said. He frowned.

“I’m – James,” he said, and she beamed.

“I’m Wednesday. Can I braid your hair?” she walked up eagerly.

He silently reached for her and set her on his knee, and she happily reached up as he tilted his head to help her reach. Morticia sat back, satisfied. “You’re hired,” she said, and James, for the first time, smiled.

Grandmama sighed a little swoon. I was inclined to join her.


End file.
